


A Dalish Discussion

by Lady_Valtieri



Series: Meredaea Lavellan [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Pining, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-23 10:00:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17681312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Valtieri/pseuds/Lady_Valtieri
Summary: Meredaea is unexpected, in more ways than one. And a discussion about the Dalish causes Solas to realise that she is perhaps more similar to her ancestors than he first thought.





	A Dalish Discussion

**Author's Note:**

> “And how did your clan respond to these views of yours?” 
> 
> “About as well as you’d expect.” She replied, her eyes almost sad.

Meredaea Lavellan was… most unexpected. 

From the moment he had met her gaze after assisting her with closing the first rift, Solas had known that she was an anomaly. The mark on her hand – his mark – glowed brightly, lighting up her eyes that were wide in disbelief. The fact that she stood before him was a testament to her oddness; he had been certain that she would succumb to the magic of the breach, the wisps that tore at the flesh of her palm and crackled like wildfire. But she hadn’t. She had lived. 

And she had prospered. 

Since their meeting, she had continuously proved to be a source of pleasant surprise. The unexpected aspect about her was intertwined with most of her features; her interest in the history of those beyond her own kind, her love and desire of knowledge no matter how controversial it was to what she had been taught. Her willingness to listen, and to think. Yes, she was unexpected.   
So, truthfully, Solas should have predicted that the views she held about her own people would be equally… unique. '

It was early evening, the sun just beginning to set over the peaks of the Frostback mountains that encompassed Haven. From his window, Solas watched as the sky melted from amber to lavender, colour bleeding across the clouds as the first sprinkling of stars began to glitter across the sky. The elf sat reclined in a chair in his temporary quarters, housed within one of the three cabins that sat tucked away above the trebuchets, pouring over the notes he had made on the rifts that they had so far encountered. Dorian had retired to the tavern an hour before hand, and even now, Solas could hear the Tevinter’s laughter combined with that of their roguish archer and Qunari mercenary. No doubt that they would not cease for several more hours, not until the moon was high and the drink in their cups low. A thought flittered across Solas’ mind, like a snowflake in a blizzard. 

Perhaps she is with them…?

Meredaea was, after all, not one to shy away from liquor, despite her upbringing. Of course, she had sampled the common ales that are so easily available to those with little coin, but when Dorian had procured a bottle of fine Tevinter whiskey… well, Solas remembered the evening well. The way her cheeks and ears had blushed rose, the way her shoulders had settled loosely, as opposed to being stiff as they usually were. She had danced that night, to the tune of the bard’s lute, and she had smiled. Solas hadn’t seen her smile like that since this entire mess began.   
Yes, perhaps if she was in the tavern, it would do her well; Solas could see the way that things were beginning to weigh on the elf – she who was their unofficial leader, the one without a title, but who they all looked to for answers, and for hope. A part of his being pitied her. The rest of him was full of disgust towards himself, for having thrown this poor girl into this ghastly situation. The blame was his own, but the punishment was hers. 

The caw of a raven pulled him from his thoughts, and Solas rubbed at his temples, shooing away the voice that had been clawing at the back of his skull since this began. It would do no good to think like that now; now, all he could do would be to assist Meredaea in whatever way was possible. He was simply thankful that she was open to his offer of help; originally, he had only intended to offer his expertise in relation to the rifts, but now he found that whatever questions she asked, whatever personal matters she approached him with… well, he found that he wanted to help her with those, too.   
She had been the one to approach him, with her inquiries about his studies and his ability to walk the Fade like a wanderer walks the waking world, and truthfully, Solas had been more than happy to entertain her curiosity. However, there were only so many hours in a day, and she had many more questions, so the two of them had begun to set aside their evenings so that they could share in each other’s company. 

But that was her way; Meredaea spent time with them all. Solas knew she had a weak spot already for Sera, despite their differences, and Dorian was already in line to becoming a valued companion. Then again, there were none in their little group that their resident Dalish seemed to hold any ill towards. Even Madame De Fer, with her cold gaze and even colder words seemed to melt under the warmth that was Meredaea Lavellan. 

Truthfully, Solas himself had grown fond of her. She sought his council regularly enough that they had formed some kind of companionship, and he enjoyed her company well enough that perhaps he would even consider her a friend. He had to admit, it was nice to be able to just talk to someone, but Maerredaea didn’t just talk; she offered her opinions, her thoughts, shared her theories. It was rejuvenating, to know that someone still had the care to pursue knowledge as she did. And he was more than content to give her what knowledge he had. 

A particularly rambunctious laugh drew Solas’ attention away from the notes he was currently hunched over, and his eyes swung towards the window next to his desk. The beginnings of ‘Sera was Never’ began to float through the air, which prompted another uproar of cheers from the tavern. Sighing, Solas stretched, his shoulders and spine creaking, and leant his head back, the tendons tensing beneath his skin. He closed his eyes, drawing a calming breath through his nose and out of his mouth, and reopened them on the exhale. He was met with the upside-down sight of Meredaea leaning against the door of his cabin, a smile on her lips, dark brown hair blowing gently in the mountain wind. 

‘Getting old, Solas?’ She grinned, mirth dancing in her eyes. The edges of his lips twitched, and he kept his head back to answer her. 

‘I am old, lethallan.’ He sat up and turned to face her, watching as she rolled her eyes in response. ‘We are not all spritely young Dalish who can slide down cliffsides with few physical repercussions.’

‘I told you, it was the easiest way to get to that Shard piece.’ 

‘Of course.’ 

His answering smirk was reflected on her own face. 

It was then that Solas realised that she was still standing in his doorway, the chill of the mountain air at her back. 

‘Please, do come in.’ 

She closed the door behind her gently, before making her way to the chair that sat parallel to his own. 

‘May I?’

He didn’t answer, instead gesturing freely. When she sat, Solas caught the brief scent of alcohol, and yet there was no redness in her cheeks, no distance to her gaze. He turned back to his notes when he next spoke. 

‘I thought that perhaps you might be in the tavern with the others, partaking in the evenings festivities.’ 

He could still see her in the corner of his eye, and he watched as she carefully picked up one of the many pages he had scattered across his workspace, idly eyeing the contents. 

‘I thought about, and I did join them briefly, but I’ll admit I did not fancy partaking in drinks this evening.’ Solas quirked a brow in response. 

‘May I inquire as to why?’

‘I suppose…’ she began, her fingers lightly running over the edge of the parchment in her hands, ‘I suppose I simply wanted to be somewhere quiet. I wanted a moment of peace.’ 

‘And you are more than entitled to such moments,’ Solas replied, picking up a quill and editing a marginal note on his own papers. He waited for whatever thoughts were in Meredaea’s mind to sort themselves. He was not kept waiting long. 

‘What are you working on, anyway?’ 

He continued scratching away with his quill, answering her when he dipped once more into the inkwell. 

‘I have been keeping notes on the nature of the rifts that we have discovered, and their immediate effects on the surrounding area in which they are situated.’ 

‘Found anything interesting?’

‘Nothing particularly outstanding, no. However, I thought that perhaps if the rifts had a pattern to them, they might be easier to predict.’

‘Which means precautions could be set in place.’ She added, moving her head next to his so that she too could scan over his writings.

‘Exactly.’ 

A hum of agreement escaped her throat, and Solas found his eyes wandering from the parchment in front of him to the elf sitting beside him. He traced the pattern of June’s vallaslin that decorated her face like vines, accentuating her cheekbones. This close, he could see the specks of silver that dusted her emerald irises like stardust, watched as she crinkled her nose like she often did when concentrating. It was then that Solas became aware of just how close she was sitting to him. If he turned his head, his lips would brush her cheek, he was certain. Perhaps, it would do no harm-

‘This is certainly good work, Solas.’ Her words interrupted his wandering thoughts, and for a moment he was afraid that he had been caught staring. When he raised his gaze to her eyes, however, he thankfully found them still glued to the parchment in front of them. He shifted, masking his act of putting distance between them as an effort to get more comfortable on his chair. 

‘Thank you. I simply hope that perhaps it can one day be of help.’ 

She didn’t reply. Her eyes were trained intently on the page before her, and he watched as she lifted the piece of parchment that was still in her hands onto the desk, replacing it where she found it. She sighed. 

‘You know,’ she murmured, eyes downcast, ‘This is what I always wanted to do.’ Solas kept quiet, waiting for her to explain. She met his eyes, a sad smile on her lips. ‘Research. Taking notes on things. Studying.’ 

Solas steepled his fingers, leaning back in his chair. 

‘I wanted to travel to Orlais, before this all began.’ A chuckle left her lips, but it wasn’t bright and warm. It was cold, brittle. ‘Growing up, I saved every coin I found. I read every book that our clan had, and when I’d read them all twice, I used to travel with my Mamae to the human cities and buy more whilst she and the others traded. I scammed traders, stole from merchants, anything to be able to read more. I wanted every book that I could get my hands on.’ A brief smile passed over her face, but it was fleeting. 

‘At first, my clan allowed my little habit to grow; they saw it as a true sign of a First, someone who was so desperate and willing to learn the history of our people. But when I started buying books about humans, and dwarves, and Qunari… that was when they thought that maybe it wasn’t such a good idea, allowing me to spend my only coin not on food, or blankets, but what they said were simply stories and fairytales.’ He heard bitterness in her voice, saw her features twist into something sour. ‘I just wanted to learn.’ 

‘Curiosity is not something to be ashamed of, Meredaea.’ 

‘I know. But I also knew that I would never learn anything new with my clan. The Dalish, we love to live in the past, but sometimes I think we forget about the future. I love my clan; my mamae and papae, my brother, my grand-mamae… but I always wanted more. I wanted to learn everything. That’s when I read about Orleasian universities.’ 

‘…You wished to study at one?’

‘I did. I kept quiet about it, of course, but truthfully my plan was that after the conclave I would travel to Orlais, not back to my clan.’ At this reveal she looked up at him. ‘Now that I think about it, a Dalish in Orlais? It’s ridiculous. The dreams of a child who didn’t know better.’ 

‘It is not ridiculous in the slightest.’ Solas leant forwards. ‘The pursuit of knowledge should never be seen as being foolhardy or foolish. The courage it would take to step away from your clan, to approach a life that is daunting and unfamiliar? That is a sign of strength. It is a shame that your clan saw your curiosity as something to be stifled.’ 

‘You know how the Dalish are; we live in ruins in an attempt to be closer to our ancestors, but does that mean that we are condemned to spend our existence clinging onto a world that no longer exists, instead of embracing the one we live in now? Are we doomed to be frozen in time, desperately trying to replicate a world that was never witnessed by one of our own? If we are always looking back, we will never see what is in front of us.’ Her eyes shot to the side, and the light from his fireplace cast her snow-like skin in a golden hue. For a moment, she looked simply exhausted. 

Solas himself was taken aback by her words. Never had he heard a Dalish speak with what he could only describe as tiredness towards their own people. In truth, she sounded like a weary mother who had grown bored of scolding a continuously disobedient child. Her perception of her people’s vain attempts to replicate Arlathan was one he had not encountered before, and one he had not expected. 

She sighed.

‘It was the same with the gods. My clan blamed my views of them on the books that I read, said that my words were ‘blasphemous’ and ‘dangerous’.” Solas frowned. 

‘…And what were your views?’

‘I don’t think they were real.’

There was silence for a moment as Solas blinked, his mind racing. Had she just said… No, he must have misheard her. 

Meredaea turned to him, a sad look in her eye, and shrugged her shoulders. 

‘I don’t think that the gods existed.’

Ah, so he hadn’t misheard her. 

‘Well, I mean,’ she turned to face the parchment once again, lowering her gaze and avoiding his eyes, ‘I think that they existed, but not that they were gods. Mages, perhaps, of incredible power, talented with magic that others couldn’t comprehend. But they seem too human to be gods, too weak to mortal follies like jealousy and greed.’ 

Solas just stared. For once in his life, he was speechless. This woman… He could not believe the words coming out of her mouth. Never had he met a Dalish who questioned the beliefs of their people. She continued. 

‘No one would talk to me for a month after I first proclaimed my thoughts. I was sixteen. I didn’t have any friends.’ Then she laughed, short and sharp. “It’s funny really, because their cold shoulders forced me to find a place that I could go and sit, alone, and read and write.” She turned to him, a sad smile on her face. ‘I decided to take their insult as a badge of pride, and I would sit beneath the stature of Fen’Harel.’ Solas’ heart stopped. ‘I felt that, because he was an outsider, that he wouldn’t mind if I joined him. We were outsiders together.’ 

Solas swallowed dryly. To know that she had found solace in his presence, that she had gone to him in her time of sorrow and solitude…It warmed a part of his spirit that he had long thought dormant. It’s true, in the stories of her people, he was a traitor, but perhaps…

‘And what of your opinion of Fen’Harel?’

Meredaea quirked a brow.

‘My opinion?’ 

‘You do not believe that the other gods are all that your people make them out to be,’ Solas held her gaze, ‘So what do you think of his place in your people’s history?’   
He watched as she gnawed at her lip, her eyes cast off to the side. He waited. 

‘I don’t think that he was a traitor.’ 

His breath stopped. 

‘I’ve studied the Dalish language. I’ve spent most of my years since learning how to read trying to translate old texts. My people say that Fen’Heral was a betrayer, but I don’t think that’s true. All of our stories are passed down by mouth; we have few written texts, and what we do have was written hundreds of years after the fall of Arlathan.’ 

She faced him then. 

“And I think that it’s all too easy for the word ‘betrayer’ and ‘rebel’ to get confused. After all, aren’t they the same thing? The only difference is which side of the story your on.’ 

Meredaea fell quiet, and briefly flickered her gaze to meet Solas eyes. He had kept quiet throughout her speech, had let her articulate her thoughts and feelings, but yet even after having the time to think of and prepare an answer to her words, he was left speechless. He didn’t know what to say. He had never encountered a situation like this before. If he told her she was right, she would surely think that he was only agreeing with her for the sake of agreeing with her. If he said she was wrong… no, we would not be like her clan. He would not pretend to disapprove of her mind and her theories.

Her lack of belief in the Dalish gods was something that shook Solas. But now he realised that she preferred to look at legends and myths with a critical eye, the eyes of a scholar, and not of a blind believer. She would not follow her people because they could not give her answers. And he did not want her to follow him. But perhaps he could answer the questions her clan never could. 

“And how did your clan respond to these views of yours?” He uttered, his voice quiet.

“About as well as you’d expect.” She replied, her eyes almost sad. 

‘I apologise Solas. I did not mean to unload my burdens upon you.’ The breath that left her was heavy. ‘It just… makes me sad. To think that my people will never truly be able to recapture the wonders of Ancient Elvhenan, no matter how hard we try. To think that so much of our history is lost to time, or was mistranslated and is therefore wrong, of how-’

She broke herself off with a heavy sniff. Her face fell, and the edges of her eyes became watery as tears formed in their depths. Solas, on instinct, raised his hand to catch the droplet that fell, brushing it off of her cheek. When their eyes met, when green clashed with storm-cloud grey, Solas was sent to another time, eons past, when the world sung with magic and crystal spires decorated the skies. 

‘You yourself are not so distant from the elvhen of the past, Meredaea.’ His hand remained on her cheek. ‘The ancient elves were also absorbed in the passionate pursuit of knowledge. Their immortality allowed them to learn whatever they wished; they mastered the arts, spoke a multitude of languages, wished to learn all that they could. You are closer to them than you know.’ 

For a moment, there was silence. Solas wasn’t lying, not completely. His brethren – and, in fact, himself – had spent their lives learning all that they could, so that they might pass their knowledge on to those that would follow them, and so as to better the lives of their people. Meredaea’s similar love for learning, her natural curiosity, would not have been out of place in Arlathan. The thought that brought sadness to Solas was that in this time, in this age, it was out of place for her to want to know more. His heart tightened. 

A log on the fire cracked. 

Solas retracted his hand quickly, as though Meredaea’s skin was as hot as the embers that glittered through the air above the fireplace, and cleared his throat. Meredaea herself straightened in her seat, running her fingers beneath her eyes. 

‘It is getting late; I should retire.’ She hastily spoke, standing quickly. 

‘Of course. Allow me to see you out.’ Solas rose, walking towards the entrance to his cabin. Meredaea followed a step behind. Solas opened the door, holding it out for her. She paused, facing him.   
‘Thank you for our talk, Solas. I appreciate it.’   
He smiled softly. 

‘The pleasure was mine.’ 

She turned to leave, but Solas watched as she stopped with one foot over the threshold, the wind blowing her hair. With her back to him, he could not see her face, but he took note that her shoulders were hunched in… anxiousness? Nervousness? 

In a flash, she had spun to face him, and her eyes ran over his face before she leant up on her toes whilst placing her left hand on his shoulder for balance. The mark – his mark – sparked in the night as it met his frame, but Solas did not concern himself with it. Not when she leant up and planted a chaste kiss on his cheek, pausing to whisper,

‘Goodnight.’ 

And with that she turned and walked down the stairs next to his residence, passing by the tavern in the direction of her quarters. When he could no longer see her, Solas raised his hand to his face, lightly brushing his fingertips over the spot where her lips had met his skin. 

Yes, Meredaea Lavellan was very… unexpected.


End file.
